Bonfire Memories

by Sally Quilford

  I was driving past when I saw her in the garden.

  Greta!

  I lost control of the car and it crashed into a tree, but I barely felt the pain as my head hit the steering wheel.

  She’d come back to me. Greta was here, looking as beautiful as ever. She had forgiven me. We can be together.

  Even as I got out of the car, the gypsy girl’s witch of a mother was holding Greta by the arm and taking her away from me. Damn them.

  I will kill that gypsy girl if it’s the last thing I do.

  ***

  A couple of hours later, Cara sat in the chair, nursing her sore throat. Barbara Price had been dragged from her, but not before doing some serious damage to her wind-pipe. The police had come and taken Price away for questioning.

  Martha Potter’s sitting room was crowded with visitors. Guy and Brigitte were there, along with Peg Bradbourne. Richard Haxby had come up from London by helicopter. Eric Black was also visiting. Martha and Herbie were on hand to give everyone tea and biscuits. All the women sat down, whilst the men stood around.

  “I had no idea,” Black was saying. “I swear to it.” Cara believed him.

  “She was very clever,” said Richard Haxby. “Her name was Lotte Schmidt. She used to be an actress in Germany.”

  “That will explain all the disguises,” said Guy. “And why I thought there was more than one Lotte.”

  “Yes, that’s quite right,” said Haxby. “She was an expert at creating different looks. From what we’ve been able to piece together since all this came to light, she moved to Britain in nineteen-thirty-nine, just before war broke out. Her grandmother was British, so she could speak English without an accent. She was able to settle in Midchester, working for the land army.”

  “That’s what she was doing when I first met her,” said Black. “When I told her about my political ambitions, she attached herself to me. Not that I minded. She was a very attractive woman.” He paused. “I loved her. Foolish, I know, but there you go. I wouldn’t be where I am today without her.”

  “Hmm,” said Haxby. “We’ll discuss that later, Mr. Crumpler.”

  Black turned ashen. “So you know all about that then? Look, I just wanted to make a clean start that’s all. And I thought Barbara could help me. True she had some strange ideas, but I always ignored them, because when it came to rallying the people, she knew what she was talking about.”

  Richard Haxby shrugged and continued with his story. “She was never quite the spy she thought she was. She passed on some secrets about the air base but as we didn’t run sorties from there, it wasn’t much help. She circulated some dodgy notes, but it didn’t do much to affect the economy. My guess is that she was left here to rot. Her fanaticism was too much even for the Nazi party, which is saying something. We gather there was a history of mental illness in the family. That and having to hide her true sexuality … well it all went to creating the woman we know as Barbara Price and the woman Greta Mueller knew as Lotte Schmidt. I am sorry if this is distressing, Miss Mueller.”

  Cara noticed that Richard Haxby was very taken with Brigitte.

  “I’m glad I know the truth,” said Brigitte. “Do you know what happened to my mother?”

  “Not yet. We’re still questioning her, but as soon as we find out, I will let you know.”

  “Can I talk to her?” Brigitte asked. “With me looking so much like Mama, I might be able to persuade her to tell me.”

  “It could be very distressing for you.”

  “More distressing than thinking my mother abandoned me twenty years ago?”

  “Point taken, Miss Mueller. I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Will you come, Cara?” Brigitte asked. Guy looked a bit put out.

  “Perhaps you should take your uncle,” Cara whispered, unable to speak properly. “After all, he has a right to know too.”

  “I meant for you to come with both of us,” said Brigitte. “I wouldn’t leave Uncle Hans out.”

  “I think Cara should be resting,” said Guy. “Besides, Barbara has already attacked her once. We don’t know if she’ll do it again.”

  Taking it as a sign that he did not want her there, Cara nodded. “Yes, I think that’s for the best. Besides,” she added, struggling to speak, “it might prevent her from speaking, if I’m there. Perhaps you can come and tell me about it afterwards, Brigitte.”

  “We both will,” said Guy, frowning. “That is if we’re both welcome.” He emphasised the ‘both’.

  “Of course,” said Cara. She took a sip of tea, as much to soothe her throat as to hide the sob that lingered there. This was not about her now. It was about Guy and Brigitte finding out the truth about Greta. “I’d like to know what happened to your sister, if you don’t mind telling me.”

  “Come and see her tomorrow,” said Martha. “I’m not going to allow her to speak for the rest of the day. If I had my way she would be in hospital.”

  “Yes, you’re quite right,” said Guy. “Perhaps we could drop you off there on the way, Cara. You should get that throat checked. I dread to think what would have happened if Martha and Brigitte hadn’t pulled her off.”

  “I’m fine, thanks,” she croaked, determined not to be moved by his concern. “I’d rather stay here with my mum.”

  ***

  Guy felt torn. He wanted to speak to Barbara Price and find out what happened to Greta, but he did not want to leave Cara in the state she was in.

  When he had arrived at the Potter house, having been telephoned by Brigitte, he had wanted to take Cara in his arms, only to find she had closed herself off to him. That was apart from Martha Potter practically forming a barricade around her daughter. It was natural that a mother should be so protective, especially after what happened. It just made it difficult for Guy to get close to Cara and let her know how worried he was for her.

  It pained him to hear how ill she sounded, but she seemed to be making it clear that she did not want his help or his concern.

  “We’ll call around in the morning,” was all he could say when Martha had forbidden any further contact with Cara for that day. He knew it made sense for her to rest her voice, but he was overwhelmed with frustration that he could not get her alone and find a way to make things right with her.

  Haxby had magically produced a car from somewhere, and he insisted that Guy and Brigitte let him take them to see Barbara Price, because he wanted to be there to see if she confessed. She had been moved from the police station to a hospital, in order to have her wounds from the car accident treated.

  Guy was surprised when Haxby pulled into the grounds of a mental hospital. They were led along a maze of corridors, starting with bright, clean rooms and ending in dank hallways with metal doors. Misery oozed out of every wall.

  “She’s in high security,” Haxby explained. “They tell me she’s in a pretty bad way, so there will have to be a guard nearby at all times.”

  Barbara Price sat in the corner of the bed, handcuffed to the metal headboard. Her normally neat and coiffured hair was all messed up and she had tear stains around her eyes. She started when she saw Brigitte.

  “Greta, my love, you’ve come to me at last.”

  Whatever sanity Barbara Price had clung on to seemed to have completely dissipated.

  “I have,” said Brigitte, taking her hand and sitting next to her “And I need to know, Lotte. How did you kill me?”

  Guy had never been more proud of his niece at that moment. She was stronger than he was.

  “Don’t you remember, my love?”

  “It’s very difficult to remember things … on this side,” said Brigitte, glancing awkwardly at her uncle and Haxby.

  “That witch brought you back, didn’t she? The dirty little gypsy girl. She’s been there all along, tormenting me, knowing about me. You didn’t know, did you my love? I hid it from you.”

  “Didn’t know what?” Brigitte’s eyes had flashed when Price insulted Cara, but she somehow managed to maintain her composure.


  “That I’m not like others. That I don’t feel emotion as others do. Except what I feel for you. That was real, my love, even when I killed you.”

  “Why did you kill me, Lotte?”

  “I had worked so hard with that idiot Eric Black. He was nothing when I found him. Just a nasty little burglar. But I saw potential there, as long as he did whatever I said. But you found me and I knew that all I had worked for would be wasted.”

  “So you killed me? How? Was it the same way you killed the man and woman at the pub?”

  “No, never.” Price shook her head vehemently. “I would never have done that to you. I only meant to burn you after you died, when it couldn’t hurt you anymore. I used Eric’s insulin. So that even if you were found, no one would guess. They’d just think that you staggered into the fire, after suffering a heart attack. I had to stab the Anderson man. She nearly caught me then too. The gypsy girl.”

  “And you burned down the pub with …” Brigitte turned to Guy and raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “Nancy and Sammy,” he said.

  “You burned Nancy and Sammy?”

  “I’m sorry about Nancy, but he had to die. He was there on the night I buried you and he’d probably told her. I almost killed him and buried him alongside you, but he managed to knock me down and run away. He wasn’t as stupid as I thought. Then he came back. Did he think I had forgotten?”

  “What do you know about my … about Brigitte’s father?” asked Brigitte.

  “Schwartz!” Price almost spat the name out. “You know all this, Greta.”

  “I forget things up here.”

  “It was only so you could get out of Germany. I had to know you were safe, my love. He’d been sniffing around you for years, so I told you ‘let him have what he wants and he’ll get you out’. I didn’t expect you to marry him, but he wouldn’t settle for anything less. You betrayed me, and in the end you gave birth to his brat!”

  “Is there anything else you want to know?” Brigitte looked at Guy and then Haxby. Her eyes were awash with tears. Both shook their heads. “One last thing,” Brigitte said. “Where did you bury me?”

  “Don’t you even remember that?”

  “How could I? I was dead.” Brigitte’s voice had become hard and bitter.

  “Up at the old Roman ruins in Midchester.”

  Brigitte got up and rushed out of the room. Haxby followed her, but Guy stayed where he was. He waited until they had gone then he advanced on Barbara. “If you were a man,” he said, savagely, “I would kill you for what you did to my sister; to Anderson; to Nancy and Sammy. And for what you did to Cara today.”

  “The gypsy girl?” Price laughed, maniacally. “Oh don’t say she’s cursed you too. In the Fatherland we knew what to do with people like that.” She made a ‘cut throat’ motion with her hand.

  Guy clenched his fists. “Like I said, you’re lucky you’re not a man.”

  He had to leave the room before he did something he regretted later. The door clanged shut behind him and he took a deep, cleansing breath.

  Haxby and Brigitte were in deep conversation in the hallway.

  “Mr. Haxby says she might never stand trial,” said Brigitte.

  “The psychiatrist says she’s been holding things together for so long that now she’s completely lost it,” Haxby explained. “Ironically, only the deception and the thought she was working for some higher cause gave her the illusion of sanity. The psychiatrist did put it in more technical terms, but it all amounts to the same. She’s completely insane. Seeing Brigitte and believing she was Greta tipped her over the edge.”

  “So she won’t be punished?” Guy desperately wanted to hit something. He chose a nearby wall and nearly broke his fingers. He clutched them to him and his voice rose in anger. “She murdered four people, Haxby. She nearly killed Cara today. How can she just walk away from that?”

  “She won’t be walking away, Sullivan. She’ll be locked up here.”

  “Yes, and one day they’ll pronounce her fit to leave, and she’ll just walk out of here, take up a new identity and start again somewhere else.”

  “That won’t happen. Even if she went to trial, she won’t be hanged. They repealed the death penalty last year.”

  “I don’t know that I want her to be hanged,” said Guy. But he was lying. He wanted her to suffer as Greta had suffered, and if he could not kill her, then he was quite happy to let someone else do it for him. “I just want her to be punished.”

  “I think she’s her own punishment, Uncle Hans,” said Brigitte, taking him by the arm. “She has to live every day with the thought that she murdered the only person she ever loved.”

  “How can you be so forgiving, Brigitte?”

  “I have to be. I’ve let what I saw as Mama’s abandonment sour my whole life. Now I know she didn’t abandon me. That she was stolen away from me. In many ways it makes things easier, even if it hurts that she suffered so badly at the hands of that woman. I have to move on now, and so do you. Wasn’t that the reason you came to look for her? So we could both start to live again? Now you have a chance of that with Cara.”

  “I think I burned my bridges there.”

  “Then you don’t know women at all, Uncle Hans.”

  He stroked his niece’s cheek. “When did you get to be so wise?”

  “I got it from my favourite uncle,” she said with a smile.

  “I’m your only uncle.”

  “You’d still be my favourite. Come on, let’s get out of here.” Brigitte shivered. “I don’t like this place.”

  Things felt far from over to Guy, with Barbara Price in a mental hospital instead of prison and Cara seemingly a million miles out of his reach.

  As he walked out into wintery sunshine, he had a strange feeling of emptiness. For so long he had wanted to find out what happened to Greta. He had spent night after night imagining the worst. Now he knew the truth, there was a yawning chasm where the question had been.

  When he was with Cara in the hotel room, making love to her, he had forgotten about Greta for a while. He had forgotten everything except the lovely young woman in his arms. After the shock of receiving the telegram, he had rushed her away, knowing from the look in her eyes that she was confused and upset. He had been sure she would understand when she knew the truth. But he had not even given her a chance to understand. Instead he had hurt her deeply.

  Now he had lost her. That was the real emptiness inside him. In a short time, Cara had filled up his whole life. Now all that was left was an aching void.

  ***

  It was getting dark when the police set up a cordon around the Roman site. They had also put arc lights around the area. Guy stood just outside the cordon, wanting to join them. The police had made it clear that he would only be in the way.

  After about half an hour, he felt movement at his side. “Cara? What are you doing here? You should be resting.”

  She looked flustered. “I heard the police were digging up here and came to see if I could be of any help,” she said, her voice still very strained. “I mean, I thought Brigitte might need some female company. I’m sorry. If I’m in the way…”

  “No, not at all. I’m glad you’re here, though it might not be pretty. Brigitte is over there, talking to Haxby.” He gestured to his niece. “I think they’re at the beginning of a beautiful relationship.”

  “He seems to like her very much. I think he’s a nice man too.”

  It pained Guy to hear Cara’s voice. Every word was forced out. “I still think you should rest your voice.”

  “Okay, I’ll shut up then.”

  He smiled. “I didn’t mean that. Thank you for coming up here.”

  “I suppose I wanted to know how things ended.”

  Guy explained what had happened with Barbara Price. “They say she’ll never stand trial.”

  “Perhaps that’s for the best,” Cara suggested. “It will only prolong the agony for you and Brigitte.”

  “Y
es, I hadn’t thought of it that way. It just doesn’t feel like it’s over. You know?”

  “I’m sure it will take a while, after all the time you’ve waited.”

  There was a shout from one of the policemen digging, followed by a flurry of movement. They had found her!

  Guy only saw snatches of the body as they drew it out of the grave. He saw tattered rags and old newspapers and a mess of muddy blonde hair. But there was very little to identify the body as Greta. Still, he knew it was her. It could not be anyone else.

  That was when his reserve failed him. He started to crumble, and tears fell down his cheeks. He was embraced in tender arms.

  “Shh, darling,” said Cara, stroking his hair. Her tears mixed with his. “It’s all over now.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The villagers had begun to wonder if the bonfire night celebrations would ever take place. So much had happened to disrupt the plans. Out of deference to Guy and Brigitte, they had even offered to cancel everything, including the Guy Fawkes competition. Guy, whilst appreciating the offer, insisted the celebrations proceed. He said it was not fair to cancel it, because of the children who had been looking forward to it.

  The fog that had been clouding the village since mid-October had finally cleared and it seemed as if they were going to be rewarded with a clear night sky.

  The village hall was packed. “If the pub was open, it wouldn’t be so crowded,” Meredith Cunningham said, wryly.

  It was a subdued affair. It seemed as if no one really wanted to be seen to be enjoying themselves when there had been so much unhappiness in the past few weeks.

  The children were thankfully oblivious to it all. Women had set up cake stalls, tombolas and raffles, and potatoes were baking in the oven in the kitchen. The aroma of sausages and onions filled the air. Mrs. Simpson fried them and put them into buns for the children. Several times she swatted her hungry husband away, saying ‘Children first, Len!’